


Shattered Mirror

by tersa (alix)



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, F/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-17
Updated: 2011-11-17
Packaged: 2017-10-26 05:05:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/279021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alix/pseuds/tersa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My stab at a "Wicked"-like version of the Dark Ritual at the end of 'Origins', from Morrigan's point of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shattered Mirror

_Redcliffe Castle_

The look on Alistair’s face when he walked into her room sent chills up Morrigan’s spine. He’d looked at her in any number of ways during their acquaintance—disgust, revulsion, contempt, and even hate—and it had rolled off her like rain off oilskin. But there was a quality to the loathing that for the first time made her feel like the slimy log he once accused her of spawning from.

She guessed it was what caring meant. She didn’t like it.

“So, let’s do this, if we’re going to do it,” he sneered.

She laughed. She couldn’t help herself. She hurt, and mocking him helped ease that pain. She wanted him, had wanted him from the first time she saw him, way back in the Korcari Wilds, but he despised her, fell in love with Lyna. She laughed again, bitterness in it, because she would finally have him, only because of Lyna.

His expression tightened. She knew the things he wanted to say, could read it in his eyes, but he’d grown up some. He kept it in check. “What should I do?”

She smiled, deliberately raking her gaze down his body then slowly back up, his posture becoming uncomfortable at the blatant appraisal. She needed him able to do this. She hid herself behind a mask, and gave him what he expected to see: disdain. “Relax, Alistair. ‘Tis not something you will have to hate.”

“I already do,” he said flatly. “I’m only doing this—” He stopped himself, jaw clenched around words that left a foul taste in his mouth.

“For her, yes, I know,” she said with an airy flip of her hand. It didn’t matter to him why _she_ did it for him. Some of the tea she poured into the two cups sloshed over the rim, her hands shaking from anger and nervousness. She chided herself, taking a deep breath. He couldn’t be allowed to see it. The breath was calming enough that her hands were steady when she offered out the cup, which he accepted warily. “Drink this.”

He sniffed at the steam curling up from the dark surface. “What is it?”

“’Tis not poison, if that’s what you think,” she said with a slight snap. She’d suffered through all the hardships he and his precious Warden had endured, made potions and teas and meals for them, healed him too many times to count and now, with this, he’d think she would kill him? His expression said he did, and her lip curled. Catching his gaze with her own, she put her own cup to her lips and drank it off, the sigh issued as a challenge. His eyes narrowed but he sipped it, making a face at the taste but finishing it off.

It was only a matter of time now before the aphrodisiac took effect, but time was needed. With a finger to his chest, she pushed him to a spot in the center of the room, leaving him to stand there while she prepared the rest of the ritual. Mud lines already marked the floor—some village idiot was going to curse her come morning, if she survived to have floors to clean—and she placed candles laced with hurlock blood where the lines intersected. By the time she placed the last one, she could feel the impact of the tea, blood warming her skin, the skirt swirling around her hips like a hundred caresses, her nipples hard from brushing against the soft folds of fabric over her chest. Alistair’s breathing had quickened, and from the corner of her eye, she saw him raise a forearm to wipe sweat from his brow, though the room was cool.

With a whispered incantation, pitched low merely for the show of it all, she twisted her wrists to bring her fingers pointing up with a flick, and the candles all lit simultaneously, bathing the room in light. The scent of beeswax, musk, flowers, and rust swirled up to assail her nostrils, an earthy, dark smell that brought an answering throb from between her thighs.

She caught Alistair’s gaze once more, saw the dilated pupils, the parted lips, and knew he was caught in the grip of the tisane. For the first time, she saw desire there, and a sob nearly escaped her. She bit it back, forced it into a false smile and disrobed, slowly, mesmerizing him with the striptease so that by the time she picked her way through the maze of candles, unclothed, he couldn’t look away, made no protest when she peeled him down to nakedness or pushed him back onto the bed, climbing atop him.

He was nearly ready, which was just as well. Her hand closed over his manhood and he cried out, eyes closing and back arching in violent reaction. Stroking it, he whimpered, pushing himself into the touch eagerly. She hadn’t expected this, or the flood of wetness, the deep ache she felt. Flemeth hadn’t warned her the magic would make this _need_ to be filled by him, so strong she trembled as she guided the head between her netherlips. She gasped when he thrust, suddenly, to penetrate her, hands groping at her waist for anchor as he pumped into her, wresting control from her as he sought to slake his magic-induced lust, and she was left riding the cresting waves until he grunted once, twice, and spent himself in her depths, the candles going out and plunging the room back to lantern-lit twilight, leaving her shaking and unfulfilled.

A few moments passed, and his slack hands tightened, shoving her off, away from his hips, and she barely had time to catch her balance to prevent tumbling onto the mattress or off it entirely, coming to crouch like a cat on hands and knees. Arousal raged in her veins. She wanted to attack him, pounce on him and drive him once more to the bed to pleasure her until she wept and screamed. But he was rolling off the other side to the basin and pitcher of water left on the table, taking up a cloth, dunking it into the pitcher and beginning to scrub himself with an intent bordering on obsessive. A silent snarl peeled back her lip as she watched, eyes narrowed, recognizing through her clouded faculties that he was washing herself from him.

He threw the cloth aside and without word picked up his discarded clothes, re-dressing in silence. Without a backwards glance, he went to the door and exited.

In a flash, she leapt from the bed, cloaked in the form of a castle dog brought by another muttered string of ancient words, and padded after him. He went not to his room but Lyna’s, and pounded on the door.

Lyna’s tear-stained swollen face came into view when she opened it, and she made to throw her arms around his neck. With a lift of his arms and a sudden motion out, he broke the grip, her arms flying away and leaving her looking up at him with a shocked expression.

Quietly, so that only her canine ears picked it up from this distance, Alistair hissed at Lyna, “That was the worst thing I’ve ever lived through. I don’t know if there is _anything_ that will ever make me feel clean again. No,” he said, shaking his head. “I came to tell you I love you, but right now, I don’t even like you for asking me to do that. Don’t touch me again. Ever.”

He stalked away, leaving Lyna sliding to a crumpled pile on the floor, sobbing quietly as she clutched the edge of the door.

Morrigan slunk back to her room and shifted back to her woman form, so that the tears clawing at her throat had escape. She leaned back against the door and buried her face in her hands, until one strayed down to curl protectively over her belly.

His child. _His_ child. A thing that should be a bright blessing for her, a hope to save him, because she couldn’t stand the thought of him dying against the dragon, and everything around it was twisted and ugly.

In her head, she heard Flemeth's soulless laughter and the sound of breaking glass of a beautiful golden mirror, bright glittery shards running down her cheeks.


End file.
